


Newbie

by preblematic



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - GTA, Body Dysphoria, Demiboy!Ryan, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Trans Male Character, improper use of cats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2832860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preblematic/pseuds/preblematic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That doesn't mean you can go around shooting people!" Gavin protests. "I like him. Geoff! Geoff, can we keep him?"</p><p>     "He's not a fucking stray cat, Gavin," a shorter brunette speaks up.</p><p>     "You guys are no fun."</p><p>(Chapters one and two have been merged.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otherwise known as "I have a boner for outsider POV and needed it in GTA verse."

     You have a questionable morality and a tendency to go with the flow. You've had five jobs in as many cities in the last year, and sometimes, just to liven things up, you'll rob a store. You don't consider yourself a bad person.

     You expect you'll stay at this job for another few weeks at least. The store owner is sleeping with one of the female cashiers, and so is his wife. So you figure you'll be able to find some entertainment there.

     You're in the back room, pretending you don't hear the unhappily married couple arguing about Joe drinking on the job, when it happens. The yelling goes quiet as customers enter the store, and you peer out, thinking it might be safe to leave the storeroom again.

     There's a bean pole of a man with dark blond hair and a button down shirt; he's got an American flag bandana tied over his face. There's a broader fellow next to him wearing the creepiest skull mask you've ever seen. You instantly realize that something's up, and close the door marginally, still watching.

     Margaret screams when the gun is pulled out, and she faints when skull guy shoots her husband.

     " _Ryan!_  Why'd you have to go and do that!?" the American flag asks, ironically with a British accent.

     "How many times do we have to tell you not to use our real names?" Skull--Ryan?--asks. "Now you're gonna have to go find the surveillance records."

     "Can I take this bloody mask off, then?"

     "No!"

     There's a pause as another voice joins the conversation, coming out of the watches on each of their arms. "Would you two shut up and get on with it? We don't have time for a lovers' quarrel right now."

     "Well maybe if _somebody_ would learn to control their trigger finger," flag says," and put their damn clothes in the wash, we wouldn't _have_ these problems."

     Skull throws his hands in the air in a manner you think is far too careless for someone holding a gun. "Oh my god, not this again. I was going to burn them, ."

     "You left them on the bed! I just changed the sheets too!"

     "Seriously, Ryan, your taste in men is really questionable," a different voice says from the watch. The blond one squawks in offence.

     "Ray!" flag protests.

     "Would you all stop using real names!" 

     Are these guys for real? You couldn't care less about their relationship troubles, and if this damn place had a back door you would've left as soon as the gun was out. You figure maybe you can hole up here until they leave, stay quiet. You like this plan up until you realize that the surveillance camera feed is exactly five feet from you, on the desk that the safe is under, and they don't seem like the quitting type. You go back to peering out the door.

     They've moved on to arguing about weed and alcohol now, and you wonder how many times these people have done this.

     "Listen, Vav, would you _please_ just go destroy the evidence? We can argue about this at home."

     "What, so you can throw a cat at me again?"

     "That was _one time._ And that cat still doesn't like me."

     "Ryan, your missus is mad at you. You should pick up flowers on your way home."

     "You know what, Jack? Fuck you. Fuck you guys," Ryan says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I'm leaving Gavin here to finish the job all by his god damn self, and when police come for all our asses it'll be his fault." Having said this, he puts his gun back in his jacket and storms out of the store.

     "Jesus, Ray, how do you handle being in the middle of that?"

     "Psh, I used to blow this footballer in high school. This is nowhere near the most annoying shit I've dealt with."

     "Ryan's been pissy all week," Gavin says.

     "I can still hear you guys."

     "Oh, piss off, Ry."

     "Fine." There's a slight static noise that you assume means he has turned his communicator off. Gavin sighs and moves around the counter to go through the register.

     "How many, do you think, Michael?" You think this is a new person talking, but it's hard to be sure.

     "After that? I think just one." And that's definitely a new voice. You idly wonder how many people it takes to rob a convenience store.

     "One, really?"

     "Yeah. I think he's gonna find Gav's double."

     "Man, what a hard life. As if looking like Gavin isn't bad enough, now some stranger's gonna kill him 'cause of it."

     "Hey!" Gavin says in protest, flailing his limbs. He accidentally knocks over the beer that Joe had been drinking earlier, and he squawks and trills as it spills on him. There's a spitting noise and a moment later he says," Oh, sausages." He shakes off his left hand, the one with the communicator on it and says," Hello? Guys? Michael, my boi? Damn it."

     So it's dead. This is good, you think. Sure, he's got a gun, but he doesn't seem all that bright, and you figure you can probably win against him. It's either that or certain death at the hands of his crazy comrades.

     You take a deep breath and slowly open the door wide enough that you can creep through it, crouching low to the ground. He's still at the register with his back turned to you, Joe's corpse and a still unconscious Margaret lying at his feet. You're almost close enough to lunge for him when you bang into a supply shelf, sending paper towels and window cleaner clattering to the floor. You curse and stand straight, knowing your cover is blown anyway. Like you said, he's not too bright, maybe you can confuse him enough to get away.

     You don't get the chance. He yelps at the noise and whips around with his gun drawn. You don't know if it's by accident or not, but a second later he fires, and there's a sharp pain in your left calf. You crumple to the ground. He shot you. He shot you. You yell at him about how he shot you. What kind of guy just shoots a person? (His boyfriend apparently, but that's not the point.)

     "Oh my god I'm so sorry," he says, dropping the gun and running over to you. He seems to realize his mistake a moment later and stops, looking between you and the gun now on the floor. This is it. You're going to be killed by some stupid ass criminal over a couple grand. This is your life. It was fun while it lasted. Your ex girlfriend can go fuck herself.

     Gavin still hasn't moved. You wonder if maybe he's actually got a conscience under all that bumbling. If he does that's your ticket out of this. You say you won't tell anyone. You say that you've done your fair share of thievery in the past, and as long as he destroys the video he's got nothing to worry about. You can see him considering it. He lifts his left wrist, about to say something in to his communicator, before he remembers that he spilled beer on it like a fucking moron.

     It's not up to him to decide, you realize. There's some sort of power structure going on, and you'd put money on him being somewhere near the bottom. He goes back for the gun.

     "Stay there," he tells you, like you're going anywhere with a bullet in your leg. You nod, assuming he's going to decide your fate while he cracks the safe and destroys the evidence. You tell him that Joe kept the safe combination at the bottom of a can of cashews on his desk, hoping it might sway his decision.

     He's gone for a few minutes, and in that time the adrenalin starts to wear off, and your leg starts to fucking hurt. Like period cramps, but in your calf. You are overcome with morbid curiosity and take a deep breath before examining the injury. You immediately regret this decision and try to get the leftover takeout you had for lunch to stay in your stomach. It somehow hurts more now that you know what it looks like.

     He comes back very shortly after that. He's got a bag in his hand, and he walks past you to the open register, emptying it into the bag. He slings the bag over his shoulder and comes back to you. "Come on then," he says, holding a hand out to you. You take it and push yourself up with your good leg. He let's you steady yourself on him and starts walking toward the door, leaving you no choice but to follow. It's not until he leads you outside that you realize the depths of the shit you've just slipped and fallen into.

     There's a car. It's an unassuming black car, but on the driver's side door is the thing that makes you wish you had called in sick today. Or actually been sick. You would've taken pneumonia over this. Emblazoned proudly on the driver's side door is a green duck inside a star encircled by four arcs.

     You've only been in this city for about two months, but you know what that means. The Crew doesn't take prisoners. He leads you to the passenger side and helps you in. He slides into the driver's seat a moment later.

     "I was kinda worried Ry'd taken the car," he admitted. "Right bugger, that one, don't know why I keep him around."

     Maybe the pain is getting to you, but the hilarity of the whole situation suddenly hits you. This British asshole wearing an American flag is a member of one of the most dangerous gangs in the city, and he apologized for shooting you. He is now presumably driving you either to your death or for medical attention, but it's out of your control now.

     You ask him if the sex is good enough to justify putting up with Ryan. He blushes and hesitantly replies," Uh, yeah, definitely."

     There is no conversation for the rest of the drive, and you figure that's for the best. The way he drives almost kills you both on multiple occasions as it is, so it's probably not a good idea to distract him. More than once your wounded leg goes banging against the console on particularly wild turns, and each time you scream in pain. You're sweating and about ready to pass out by the time he pulls up and parks outside an apartment complex.

     He turns the car off and gets out, goes around to your side and opens the door for you. You grab his offered hand and wince as you pull your injured leg out of the car. There's a dark puddle pooling on the floor mat, and you hope it's not as much as it looks like. You think, maybe, it would've been a good idea to bandage the wound before you left the store, but, whatever, it's too late now.

     There aren't many people in the lobby, and the few that are there politely look the other way as Gavin helps you to the elevator. You're still bleeding, but the way you have your leg angled means it's mostly running down your leg into your shoe. Once you're both inside the elevator he presses the buttons for the penthouse, has to type in a little code and everything.

     While the elevator does its thing, you focus on your breathing, deep breaths, because it's easier than focusing on the searing pain in your leg. When the elevator dings and the door opens, you're ready for anything. Well, almost anything, apparently, because you really weren't ready to see two dudes making out against the back of a couch. That was unexpected, but y'know. You're just a guy with a vagina, no judgement here.

     "Oi, Ray, c'm'ere and help me," Gavin says, supporting more and more of your weight as your head swims.

      "Holy shit tits, Gavin, what did you do?!" the smaller of the two men against the couch exclaims, leaving the cage of the other man's arms to come toward him.

     "Well I shot 'im, didn't I?"

      You think you're going to pass out. You say as much. The last thing you remember before you faint is the man in front of you swearing and surging forward to catch you as you fall.

\----

     You wake up to the sounds of yelling, but they are far off, muffled by walls. Both you and your leg are propped up on some pillows. You blink slowly and look around. Your leg fucking hurts.

     Someone has bandaged your leg. They apparently cut off your pants to do so if the pile of cut material on the floor is any indication. Your boxers are still on, but you panic for a moment because you opted not to wear your packer to work today. Mostly because you woke up in a girl's house on the other side of town and went straight to the store. Then you realize that you don't really care if some members of a gang know you don't have a dick. If they're gonna kill you it's not gonna be for that, probably.

     There are two little white pills and a glass of water on the bedside table, and you assume those are for you. You reach over and pick them up, taking a swig of water and chasing the pills down.

     You wonder idly if you should somehow alert someone that you're awake, but you doubt you would be heard over all the yelling. You count the stripes on the bed sheets instead, in between the pulsing from your leg.

     A few minutes later, the yelling grows rapidly closer, and you can distinguish cries of "Ryan! Don't!" The door slams open a moment later and a man holding a gun enters, followed rapidly by Gavin and four other men. The one with the gun, you think, is Ryan without his mask on. He's pretty.

You marvel idly that this is actually the most social you've ever been, learning two whole names in one day. Maybe even three, actually. You're pretty sure one of them is named Ray. 

     Ryan points the gun at your head, and you squeak. It's not your proudest moment, but you'll excuse yourself on account of life threatening peril.

     "For Christ's sake, Ry," Gavin says, walking up to him and pushing the gun away, toward the wall. "Please don't shoot him. Y'already killed the shopkeep."

     "Yeah," Ryan says, then hardens his eyes," didn't get to relish it though. Was gonna take my time with the girl, but that didn't work out." He glares at Gavin.

     You feel a little sick to your stomach, hearing Joe and Margaret's lives discussed so flippantly. They hadn't been your friends, by any means, but you knew them. You wonder what Margaret will think when you don't show up to work tomorrow. All your stuff is still in your bag at the store, including your phone.

     "That doesn't mean you can go around shooting people!" Gavin protests. "I like him. Geoff!" The man he addresses is average height, covered in tattoos from what you can see, and has a truly magnificent mustache. "Geoff, can we keep him?"

     "He's not a fucking stray cat, Gavin," a shorter brunette speaks up.

     "You guys are no fun."

     You clear your throat, and everyone looks to you. You ask if you do not get a say in this decision. It's presumptuous of you, but if it's a choice between staying here, and doing whatever it is Gavin wants you for, or having a bullet between your eyebrows, you'll take the former.

     "Geoff, you were just saying how we needed a new errand boy," Gavin says hopefully. You protest the degrading name, but he shushes you.

     Geoff pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "You know what? Fine, fucking--fine. You can keep him. He can be your fucking apprentice if it'll get you all to shut up."

     Gavin squeals with delight and jumps up and down. Ryan groans and lowers his gun in defeat. He storms off through the wall of men and in to the hallway. The shortest of the company goes after him. You realize that those were the two who were making out against the couch when you arrived.

     "Just don't do anything stupid," Geoff tells Gavin before wandering off. "Don't put weight on your leg," the remaining man tells you. He is large and has a bushy red beard. "I'll come back later and check on it." He leaves. You are alone with Gavin. Swell.

     You ask if you're going to be hazed in to the gang now, and he laughs. "Nah, I'll show you the ropes, and if Geoff thinks you're worth it, we'll keep you around." You find yourself surprisingly okay with this. Your life wasn't going anywhere anyway. Why not join a gang and die in some giant caper?

     "So, I never caught your name," he says. You deliberate whether or not you should tell him your real name, but you know his, so it's only fair. Your name is Robin, and he seems unusually happy about it.

     "Finally someone else with a weird name!" he says, excited. "I mean sure, Kdin's weird enough for three people, but he doesn't count."

     Your name isn't odd. It's a perfectly normal, neutral name that you like the sound of when other people say it. You glare at him, though not with any real ill will.

     You ask what happens now, right now, specifically. "You like video games? Jack could probably move you out into the living room with the Xbox." You do like video games, as it happens, more of a PC gamer, though. "Ry's the same."

     There is a loud thump against the wall right behind your head and a muffled," Fuck, Ray." It's soon followed by a chorus of moans, and you see Gavin's face growing visibly redder.

     "He's doing that just to spite me, he is. Whenever he gets pissed he always takes it out on Ray's mouth. Bugger."

     You, despite your curiosity, decide not to inquire as to the nature of his relationship issues, and instead you prod him about those promised video games, and maybe some pants.

     "Yeah, yeah, I'll go see if Jack's okay with moving you. Sorry, again, by the way about the whole shooting you business."

     You wave him off. It just might be the best thing to ever happen to you. You do hope you can go back and get your stuff though. Whether they know or not you'd feel better with all your gear on.

     He scampers off to find Jack, who you guess is the bearded guy from before. You're left with nothing to do but twiddle your thumbs and try to ignore the sounds from whatever room's on the other side of the wall. You're sure it would be hot if you were into that sort of thing.

     Gavin returns with Jack a few minutes later. He's also triumphantly holding a pair of pants that you can tell just from looking are going to be too long for you. You appreciate the sentiment though.

     "Jack says we can do it!" Gavin says excitedly. You make a jab about some people doing it already, and he looks confused for a moment before rolling his eyes.

     Jack raises his eyebrows, but catches on soon enough. "God damn it, they're in Geoff's office again," he says. You wonder how often those two fuck around in odd places. "If they break another one of his good bottles of--"

     "Jack," Gavin cuts in, motioning toward you.

     "No actually, I was thinking his brandy."

     "Jack," Gavin says, exasperated.

     "Yeah, sorry. Just, pissed-off Geoff is hell for everyone."

     "You want me to go move them?" Gavin asks.

     "Yeah, probably a good plan."

     Gavin scurries away again, and you're left alone with Jack. You feel better about this situation than being left alone with Gavin. Jack has yet to prove to you that he has no reasoning capabilities at all.

     The bearded man picks up the discarded jeans from where the Brit dropped them on the floor. "Gavin's the smallest one," he says," I figured his would be the closest fit. They'll probably be too long, though. How tall  _are_  you, anyway?"

     You are five foot three and a half inches tall, and you with fuck up anyone who mentions it. You have all the rage and half the space. He laughs and says he won't bring it up.

     He threads your good leg through one side of the pants and then your injured leg, pulling them up your legs are lifting your hips. The pants don't even have to be opened to fit around them. It's oddly intimate, him dressing you, and you don't like it much at all. You ask him how long you'll be bedridden.

     "Actually not too long," he says," Gavin's a horrible shot, thankfully."

     He then proceeds to give you a rundown of how the bullet went in and where it came out. He tells you all the bones and arteries and veins and tendons you're lucky it missed. You stop listening. Medical jargon has always bored you, and it doesn't seem to have improved any since the last time a doctor patched you up for being a dumbass.

     "So you'll probably be almost back to normal in about two months," is what finally tunes you back into Jack fm. He's handing you a cane that he apparently kept in the now open closet behind him. You wonder if this is their makeshift infirmary.

     You take the offered cane and slowly ease your leg down off the pile of pillows. You lower first your good then your bad leg to the floor and stand, using the cane in your left hand.

     Jack helps you out to the living room. In the living room the first thing you notice is an enormous--really just an _unnecessarily_ large TV. It's surrounded by comfy yet stylish looking chairs and a couch and some sort of--what is that, a futon? You think it's a futon.

     You move on from the futon(?), to the floor to ceiling, wall to wall window on the west side of the room. You see a breathtaking view of the sun setting behind the skyline, oranges and pinks painting the sky as the celestial body is sucked into the ocean.

     Then you see that Gavin has accomplished his task of getting the two lovers out of Geoff's office. You know this because Ryan currently has the small one--pants undone but fully clothed--bent over, fucking him braced against the giant window while Gavin stands to the side trying furiously to reason with them. It's a losing battle, looks like, for many reasons. Not the least of which being that the small one has a hand in the blond's pants and Ryan just fisted a hand in his hair and kissed him.

     You ask how anything gets done around here. Jack admits that he's not really sure considering Ray is generally fucking one of those two at any given point in time.

     He leads you to the couch despite the threesome happening ten feet away. You can vaguely hear Ryan whispering dirty things to the small one--Ray, Jack said, but he's too far away for you to make it out, thank god.

     Jack settles you in a large recliner and makes you put the footrest up. You wonder why this man you've just met cares so much for your recovery. You file away that you may owe him many favors down the road.

     Jack turns on the Xbox and hands you a controller. He masterfully ignores everything else going on in the room, and you hope to one day achieve such levels of done-with-your-shit.

     He shuffles through some menus and then a game is loading. When you see what it is, you ask if high blood pressure is bad for healing injuries. You've never played any of the Trials games, but their reputation precedes them.

     He explains how to play and you bumble your way through the easiest level of the game. You're part way through the second level, with Jack's coaching, when a sudden shout from the window--which you had actually managed to forget about--startles you and makes you lose. You look over in time to see three successive orgasms you never asked to see.

     Gavin has one hand in Ray's (who had started sucking him off since last you looked) hair and one braced against the window. Ray seems to be holding on to Gavin's pants for dear life. And Ryan has gone very still, but he's whispering something that makes the smaller man groan.

     Like a train wreck, you can't look away as it all goes down. Ray gets jizz on his face, and Gavin looks mortified. You can't really see the other two's fronts but you assume the noises mean something's happening. Ryan pulls out and flips Ray around, kissing him in a way that, once again, would be hot if you were in to dudes, especially with the whole facial look going on, and, yeah, somebody's gonna have to clean that window.

     You finally manage to pry your eyes away, and Jack is looking at you like he's restraining himself from laughing. You're blushing, and you flip him off.

     Ryan walks briskly past the TV area and back toward Geoff's office. A few moments later he reemerges, tucking the gun he had had pointed at your head in to the pocket of his jacket. "I'll be back later," he says to no one in particular before he boards the elevator that seems to be the only way in or out of this penthouse.

     Ray hops over the back of the couch directly to your right, startling you, and Gavin follows him slowly. Ray leans forward and grabs a tissue off the coffee table.

     "Dude, you came in my eye," he complains, quickly needing another tissue. He gives up after that one and just grabs the box off the table. Gavin sits down next to him."

     "Ye, sorry about that."

     "You're an asshole; who's he?" he nods his head toward you. You know he knows where you came from and why you're still here; so you assume he's asking for more specific information.

     "He's Robin," Gavin says on your behalf.

     "Pretty name," Ray says. You very quickly tell him that you are straight and have no desire to get mixed up in whatever just happened to that poor window. He laughs. "Damn, we could use _another_ bottom around here," he says, you think it's sarcasm.

     You protest that assessment, but say nothing. The dynamic around here is weird and you're trying to feel it out. Plus, considering his role in what just happened, you don't want to accidentally insult a potentially unstable, highly wanted criminal.

     "I've been teaching him how to play trials. He's actually pretty good at it," Jack says, drawing attention from you. You thought you had sucked, but it's hard to tell with that game.

     "Glad you've finally got another freak to hang out with," Gavin says.

      At the same time, Ray says," Kill me," in a monotone.

     You assume there's some history there, but once again don't pry. You pick your controller back up and restart the level you had failed. You're apparently some sort of god at this game, because Ray and Gavin are taking bets on how long it'll take you to surpass Jack in skill. You think that means they like you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of Ryan the Georgia guy.

     You are confined to the apartment that seems to serve as their headquarters. Some of them sleep here sometimes, but Geoff seems to be the only permanent resident. He doesn't talk to you much unless he's drunk, which is semi often, and then he tells you stuff you don't wanna know. He tells you about his wife who also happens to be a pretty big name in the drug world, about his kid who lives blissfully unaware of all of it; he shows you pictures at one point when he's  _really_  drunk and keeps calling you Burnie.

     Jack tells you after the first night that you're not allowed to ever sleep in your binder or wear it at all that day. You protest, but he fights you on it, and you ask how he joined a gang when he cares so much for others' wellbeing. He tells you that's why he's the doctor and then makes you take off your binder and give it to him, to be held in an unknown location until further notice. You grudgingly admit that, yeah, it's easier to breathe this way. The others either don't notice or don't care, and it's kind of refreshing.

     After a few days you're pretty sure they've accepted you into their ranks. Geoff throws beers at you, and Ray offers you his joint; you've never accepted but he still always asks. Three days after you arrive, Ryan, begrudgingly, and at Gavin's insistence (you can see him in the hallway, watching) offers to teach you how to clean a gun, and you accept quickly. He still scares you, and you'll jump at any opportunity to convince him that he shouldn't kill you.

     He asks if you're any good in a fight, and you tell him that you can shoot a handgun if need be, but your aim is kind of shit. You're pretty good with a knife, but that probably wouldn't be much help in this line of work.

     "You'd be surprised," Ryan says, demonstrating a second time how to put the gun back together," how many situations quick thinking and a knife'll get you out of."

     He doesn't say much after that beyond instructions. He hands you the freshly put together gun and tells you to take it apart like he showed you. You stumble through it while he corrects you and then he tells you to put it back together. This goes on for a few hours, off and on, until you're sure you could take apart, clean, and reassemble this particular gun in your sleep.

     "Good," Ryan says after a time. He takes the gun you've just put back together--brilliantly put together, you might add--and stands from the couch. "Once you can stand by yourself someone should teach you to shoot." He leaves.

     The worst part about being shot, besides the pain, which Jack graciously takes care of with little white pills that you don't question, is being pretty much confined to this, admittedly comfy, recliner. Your leg is propped up on four pillows since you're only supposed to have it down ten minutes every hour. You don't strictly follow that rule though.

     You mostly watch TV or play on one of their many Xboxes; they've all warned you independently not to do weird shit on their gamertags. You turn on the news one day out of sheer boredom, and are surprised to see Joe and Margaret's faces staring back at you.

     "A week and a half later, and police are  _still_ looking for any leads regarding the robbery and double homicide that took place at a local convenience store early last Saturday afternoon," the woman is saying. Double homicide? Are you assumed dead now?

     "Joe Fletcher and his wife Margaret were both found dead last Saturday after their store was robbed," the woman continues," but what makes this case particularly strange is that Margaret wasn't killed until after she had filed a police report and gone home.

     "She was found later that same day by concerned friends who had heard of her husband's death. In contrast to her husband, who was shot cleanly through the head, her corpse was described as 'almost unrecognizable.' This has led to police questioning whether the two events are even related, or just a freak coincidence."

     You change the channel. You've heard enough to know that Ryan went back for Margaret. You feel a little sick to your stomach, but overall you're pretty okay with it? And it's the fact that you're okay with it that makes you uneasy.

      Gavin and Ray enter the apartment then. Gavin's singing some song you don't know, and Ray is carrying a brown paper bag like a first place trophy, held aloft in awe even as grease seeps through it, while he loudly hums a different song that sounds like a victory march. Gavin has a large black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

      "We brought food!" Ray yells through the apartment, obviously not really sure who's there and who isn't.

      You know the drill by now. You announce your presence and hold up your hand over the back of the recliner. Some kind of wrapped something ends up in your hand as Ray and Gavin make their way to the seats around the TV and deposit their loot on the coffee table.

     "Hey, Rob," Gavin says, sitting down heavily on the couch next to you. You quickly correct him, as you have done for the past three days. Your name is not Rob. "Yeah, yeah, Robin, whatever. Got something you might want."

     You unwrap your--it turns out to be a chicken sandwich. You unwrap your chicken sandwich and raise and eyebrow at him. He swings the duffel bag around until it's in his lap and unzips it, pulling out first your favorite shirt and then one of your binders and then one of your boots. Your eyes widen.

     "Jack had X-Ray and I take him on a bit of a field trip," he says. "He got some of your things from your apartment--crappy little place you had there--and told us to bring them to you. He had to do some bloody doctor shit I dunno."

     "Maybe he's picking up some stronger shit; whatever he have last time did fuck all," Ray says.

     "That's cause your body doesn't register painkillers anymore until they're dangerous," Gavin scolds, shoving Ray lightly.

     "Do you two have to be so fucking loud every time you enter a god damn room?" The brunet with the video game tattooes--who you have learned is named Michael--comes stumbling out of...somewhere. There's so many rooms in this god damn apartment, who really knows. He's got on nothing but a white, sleeveless undershirt and a pair of blue boxers. He squints and trudges toward where the food smell is coming from, stumbling a bit and flinching at the light as he leaves the darkness of the hallway.

     "Rough night, my boy?" Gavin asks loudly.

     "Shut the fuck up, Gavin," Michael responds. He grabs a sandwich at random, unwraps it, and starts eating it before he even looks at it.

      "Ah, is someone a bit  _hungover?"_  Ray asks, shouting the last part just to watch Michael flinch.

     "Seriously, assholes, shut up. Geoff drank more than I did last night, and it's only by sheer dumb luck and an alcohol coma that you haven't woken him up yet."

     Their demeanor immediately changes, and they go quiet. Ray and Gavin choose their own sandwiches out of the many that are left and bite into them silently. Geoff hadn't come across as that scary to you, but then you had never seen him hungover and annoyed so you guess you couldn't be sure. You follow their lead and don't say anything.

     After a few moments of silent eating, Ray speaks up. "So like, not that you wandered half dressed of of Geoff's bedroom or anything but, I thought you two had called it quits, again."

     "I thought you knew how to mind your own damn business," Michael shot back.

      You look at him fully now. You quickly learned that Michael was a lot more volatile--and therefore more dangerous, at least in the short run--than Ryan, and you now do your best to avoid direct eye contact or looking too long. However, he seems to be suitably distracted by his spat with Ray and Gavin, so you look him over.

     His hair is in disarray, more so than usual, and there are suspiciously mouth shaped marks littering his exposed shoulders. You wonder how you missed the outline of hands over Michael's throat, or the boneless way he practically sinks into the couch.

     You heard them, you realize, last night. You heard Michael and Geoff, but everyone's voice sounds the same when all they're shouting is 'more,' and you've adjusted to the noise levels in the apartment fairly well. You fell asleep and slept through it.

      "All I'm saying," Ray tells Michael as you tune back into the conversation," is that crawling back to him every time you end it isn't going to fix anything."

      "It's unhealthy," Gavin chimes in.

      "Is this a fucking intervention?" Michael asks. "Let me eat my damn burger in peace. Robin!" You jerk at suddenly being addressed. "You got some sort of relationship trouble that these two fuckwits can try to help you with? It's their specialty."

     Your closest thing to relationship trouble in recent times was when Melissa tried to sleep with you. She isn't the kind of girl who's used to being told no, and you understand why. She  _is_  pretty hot, and in all honesty you would've totally hit that if she hadn't also been sleeping with your employer and his wife. You had no interest in opening that can of worms.

     You apologize to Michael that, unfortunately, you can't get the crew's self proclaimed love experts off his back. He's gonna have to take it like a real man and talk about his feelings.

     "Hell no," Michael says, standing. He grabs his half eaten burger as well as another, untouched, one. "I'm out," he says before trudging back toward the room he came from.

      You ask if this criminal gang ever actually does any sort of criminal activity, or if they just sit around and circle jerk all the time.

     "Don't knock the geometric jerkin'," Ray says. Gavin elbows him. "Fine, fine, let me see." He squints his eyes and stares at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. "He got smashed and fucked Michael--what's that? Bank heist? A safe hit, at least."

     "Or an information run," Gavin agrees. "Probably in the next month."

     Ryan enters then, a cardboard box tucked under one arm and the other cradled against his chest. "Where's Jack?" he calls, dropping the box on the kitchen counter.

     "Hopefully picking up some painkillers than actually work," Ray says. "And keep your voice down. Papa and bear boy went at it again last night, and apparently Geoff's down for the count." Ryan rolls his eyes.

      "What's wrong with your arm, Ry?" Gavin asks, standing up and walking toward him in concern.

     "Hand," Ryan corrects. "Nothin' major, think I broke my pinky." He holds up his left hand, and sure enough his fourth finger is bent at an oddly sharp angle to his hand.

     "Jesus," Gavin says, alarmed.

     "It's nothin', darlin'," Ryan assures him, carding the fingers of his good hand through Gavin's hair to soothe him. Gavin looks anything but. You hear Ray mutter and 'oh shit' quietly next to you before he gets up and walks cautiously toward his boyfriends.

      "Ryan," Gavin says slowly, removing the hand in his hair and holding it in both his palms. "Ryan, you're on a murder break aren't you?" he asks cautiously.

     "Why d'you ask?"

      "Because you're only ever like this when you are," Ray supplies, gently resting a hand on Ryan's shoulder. They're treating him like a skittish dog, and it unnerves you.

     "Maybe I am," Ryan says nonchalantly," what's it to ya?"

     "Jesus, Ryan, you know we can't do anything when you're like this," Gavin says. "And if Geoff's planning something we  _need_  you."

      "It'll be okay," Ryan promises.

\----

      Your ability to read dynamics is probably why your big mouth hasn't ended in you dead in an alley somewhere, and this dynamic makes you uncomfortable.

     Geoff is clearly in charge, but only by the very loosest definition of the word. He is in charge of them in the same way that Drew Carey was in charge of 'Whose Line Is It Anyway?' But he is in charge, and they respect him to some degree. But they're not afraid of him.

     Everyone in this apartment is currently terrified of Ryan, where not twenty four hours ago Gavin was trying to see how many Q-tips he could wedge inside the skull mask before Ryan woke up. And things don't usually change so drastically without a catalyst, of which there seems to be none.

     They tend to have all their important conversations in the big, open space that constitutes the living room, entry way, kitchen, and dining room. You thought it was mostly because six grown men just don't fit into the other rooms, but you soon gathered that Ryan also just  _really likes_  to fuck against that giant window. Ryan specifically  _really likes_  to fuck  _Ray_  against that window while at least two other people are in the room and generally while participating in the conversation they're having. Ryan is a weird motherfucker.

     But back to the point, they tend to have their serious conversations while they're all spread out in the open area of the house. Sometimes Geoff has a map laid out and usually Gavin's upside down on the couch, because he 'thinks better that way.' Everything is always in motion and loud.

     It isn't now. Ryan is very calmly sitting on the loveseat with Gavin in his lap and Ray sitting stiffly by his side; he has his left hand raised above his head so that Jack can put his pinky back where it goes. Geoff is standing over them, a hand over his mouth like perhaps his mustache can solve all their problems--you're not even sure what the problems  _are_. Michael is standing by the window watching Ryan carefully.

     Everything is quiet and stiff. And then it isn't.

     "How many?" Geoff asks.

     "Listen, I don't know what y'all think the big deal is," Ryan says. He taps his fingers on Gavin's hip. "I just wanna get patched up and go to bed," he gestures toward the box on the counter briefly," but I brought back--"

     "No," Geoff shouts, before catching himself and lowering his voice. Ryan flinches, which is something you've never seen him do before. "No, Ryan, I am not going to dig through  _whatever_  it is you've brought back to this apartment just to get a number, when I know you know."

     "Twen'y five," Ryan answers reluctantly. He buries his face in Gavin's shoulder like that will protect him from further retribution. Geoff looks like he's going to explode.

     It's worth noting that Ryan seems to have picked up a light--what is that? Alabama? Georgia? Somewhere down south--accent. You're pretty sure he didn't have it before, but then, he didn't really talk that much to you. It makes the whole situation that much more confusing.

     "Done," Jack says quietly, releasing Ryan's now splinted hand and coming around to sit on the couch. Ryan lowers his left arm across Ray's shoulders, making the younger man stiffen even more.

     "Twenty fi-- _twenty five--_ twenty five!" Geoff repeats, gesticulating toward Ryan. "What did you bring this time?" No one had yet been brave enough to open up the box that Ryan had set on the counter.

     "Rings," Ryan says.

     "You needed a box for rings?" Ray asks, speaking for the first time since this started.

     "If y'all would just let me  _explain_ ," Ryan says, shifting Gavin around so he can reach in his jacket  for something with his good hand. There are three guns on him almost immediately. He flinches again. "Jesus Christ, I'm not going to shoot  _you._ "

     Geoff motions with his hand, and Ray, Michael, and Jack all lower their guns. "Glad you all trust me so much," Ryan says. He pulls his hand out from his jacket and holds it out on a closed fist; he offers it to Geoff. 

     Geoff holds out his hand, and Ryan drops five or six little shiny baubles into his hand. It takes you a moment to connect that they're the rings he had mentioned. He reaches back into his jacket and pulls out more; Geoff has to bring his other hand down to keep them from overflowing on to the floor. 

     After a couple more handfuls, he has apparently exauhsted his supply of rings. "Wait, I need that one back." He plucks a ring from the top of the pile. You can't see it very well from this far away, but it looks like a thick black band with some kind of brilliant blue stone.

     Geoff looks between the pile of rings in his hands and Ryan's face several times in quick succession. "What the fuck, dude?"

     Ryan shrugs. "I saw this one, and I liked it. So I decided to take it. I mean, I guess slittin' his throat wasn't  _strictly_ necessary, but," he trails off.

     "And the other twenty four?" Geoff asks.

     "Got bored. You can keep those if you want. I was gonna let Gavin pick first, though."

     "You're a weird motherfucker, Ryan," Geoff sighs. He walks over and slumps into the couch next to Jack. "How long did you say this was gonna last?"

     "Probably 'bout two weeks?" Ryan says. "It's--"

     "Please don't try to explain," Geoff stops him with a hand. "That never goes well."

     "What's in the box, then?" Michael asks, cautiously coming closer.

    "What's on the outside of the box," Ryan says, like it's obvious. "'S literally just a new toaster. Gavin tried to make French toast in the other one."

     "It has toast in the name!" Gavin squawks, and just like that, everything is back to normal again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuckin Joooooooooooooel. Tell me if his dialogue seems like too much or not enough bc I'm trying to achieve perfect, Joel levels of stuttering + asshole, and it's kinda hard to reach

Everything is decidedly _not_ back to normal again, you soon find.

You think you've been transported to the twilight zone. Ray is wearing both a permanent frown and the ring that Ryan had apparently gone on a murder spree for. Ryan himself seems to have become a character out of a paperback romance novel. You swear to god that Gavin is building some kind of magpie nest on the couch in the library with all the shiny trinkets that Proper Gentleman Ryan has brought back as courting gifts. He brought them back for Ray, who's apparently in a snit about something, but Gavin has a way of pilfering shiny things.

Ryan comes home whistling one day when Ray is showing you the finer points of his knife collection. Ray looks like he wants to cut off Ryan's lips with the knife he's holding—a pretty, ornate thing, sharp as hell. Instead, he stabs it into the coffee table, jostling the carefully laid out blades there, and stands up.

Ryan, oblivious as he seems to be now,  smiles at him and walks over. "Hi dear," he says. He reaches for Ray, you think to touch his arm or something equally as intimate, but Ray jerks away.

 "Hello, Ryan," he says coolly. He bends to carefully sheath and collect his favorite knives from the coffee table, cradling them in one arm. He looks Ryan dead in the eye as he yanks the blade from the wood of the table.You're nervous. 

You've never actually seen any of them wield anything but a gun, never seen them fight. You still don't know why they _are_ fighting, and as such you don't know how violent it could get.

Luckily, Ray doesn't seem to want to take things in that direction. He carefully stows his possessions back in the backpack he had brought them in. He says," Goodbye, Ryan," and leaves the apartment. 

Ryan pouts—that's all you can reasonably call it, a pout. He sighs and slumps on to the couch. You ask why they're fighting; he says he doesn't know.

Geoff keeps wandering through the apartment with a glass of whiskey that's always almost empty, but never quite, muttering about raccoons and owls, and, "Seriously, _why_ don't they have a cow?" No one can even _find_ Michael. No one has fucked loudly and in your general vicinity in nearly five days, and that's how you really know something's wrong.

Jack is the only sane one in this place. Throughout this whole thing he continues to monitor your leg, your binding, _and_ how many pills you're allowed to take. Not even 2008 Fall Out Boy singles can describe the levels of not caring that this walking beard possesses inside of itself.

It all comes to a head a week and a half after what you're referring to as The Second Council of Elrond. You wake up and have to piss, so you grab your handy-dandy cane and march your ass slowly yet surely toward the bathroom.

The one nearest the living room is occupied, so you trek on. You have to pass one of the spare bedrooms on your way, and as you draw near you can hear the sounds of someone having loud sex. A moment later you're pretty sure that person is Ray, because no one else here would start laughing and say "Need me to slow down, papa?" while fu—okay maybe Michael would. You could see that, but Michael hasn't been seen in a week so you go back to your original assessment of it being Ray.

Which—good, you were getting tired of Ryan being a kicked puppy and Ray being aloof. You're not sure if Ryan pissed in his weed or what, but you're glad they've kissed and made up.

You make it to the bathroom, and you can still hear them from there. You mourn silently for the wonderful amounts of sleep you had been getting during their fight. They apparently finish while you're in there. At least, they're not still going at it when you open the door out to the hall again.

You're about two feet from the bedroom door when it swings open. A man who you've never seen before steps out from the doorway. He is slouching, tall, and thin, wearing clothes that look like they are Jack's size though he is definitely not. He has a bird's nest of black hair on his head and just a bit of stubble.

The man starts to take another a step out of the room when he gets wrenched comically back inside. You can't see from this angle, but the sounds of loud kissing confirm your suspicion.

"Ray, I have to—I've gotta go." You can see one pale hand gripping the doorframe as the man inside speaks. "B-Burnie needs me back—back at the—I have to be back by one."

There's a beat of silence where you assume they're kissing again. Then Ray says," Go on then, old man. Sorry you can't keep up with me.""You—you're a little bitch."

"Yeah, well."

The man emerges back into the hall, and the bedroom door closes behind him. A moment later he sees you and freezes.You wave the hand not holding a cane at him. He narrows his eyes at you in confusion before cautiously waving back. You introduce yourself.

"I'm Joel," he says once you are done. You ask if he knows Ryan, and he glances around the room nervously. "I-I mean I know _of_ him. We've never—he's-he's never—I've never had the misfortune of meeting him, no. Geoff doesn't need me too much, so I've just, uh, just haven't."

You raise an eyebrow. To be sure, you haven't got a clue exactly _how_ polyamorous that relationship is. And hey, it's his funeral if Skeletor gets pissed. There is a murder break in effect, though. At least, that's what you think is happening, and you assume from the name that that means no murders are occurring for a bit, or—it could be a break taken specifically to commit murders. You'd never thought of that.

You wish him luck and begin hobbling along back to your chair. It's kinda awkward because he's going the same direction as you, toward the door. Except you're going the speed of slow, and he quickly passes you but then doesn't seem sure if he should slow down and try to talk to you or just get out while he can.

He seems to settle for door number one, and slows down to your pace. "So, I've never seen you before. Well, actually I-I have, but you were—you were asleep and I had other things—I was kinda busy."

You tell him that basically all you've been doing for the last—what's it been? three weeks? Four?—is sleep and eat and pop painkillers. He asks about your leg, and you tell him Gavin shot you. How that translates to you being part of their gang now is beyond you. You think maybe it's the same concept as accidentally running over a dog and then adopting it.

You ask him what he does, and all he answers with is," Numbers. I do numbers and lies." You're not sure what that means, but the way he says it scares you enough that you don't ask more.

You both talk more. You tell him about your first impressions of the crew, and he sort of just babbles about whatever. Numbers, he talks about numbers a lot, and gold.

You finally hobble your ass back in to your near permanent residence of a chair and go for a drink of water. Joel makes awkward farewells and heads for the elevator. You find that your water cup is empty just before he presses the button, and, yes, you have just met this man, but Ray trusts him enough to fuck him and let him wander around the apartment by himself, so you don't think it's unreasonable to ask him to refill your water since it's, y'know, kind of a pain to do it yourself.

"What? Oh, okay." He starts walking toward you before he even finishes his not a sentence. You hold up the glass—pink with bunnies on it; there was a whole set; Ray had picked them out—and voice your thanks when he takes it. "Yeah," he says, distracted.

He's looking at the clock on the wall. He looks at it for a few seconds; you can see his eyes following the longest hand. When the minute hand ticks over he winces and starts muttering, but he walks to the kitchen, and you hear water running, so you don't ask.

Joel is halfway back to you with your prized hydration when the elevator doors ping open and Ryan steps in. His hands are tucked in his jacket pockets, and he's humming cheerily. Joel freezes, and Ray chooses that exact moment to call from the hallway," Do I need to suck your dick again before you can leave? " He makes it to the end of the hallway, where he can see Ryan, and his eyes widen behind his glasses.

All he's wearing is Zelda boxers and sex hair. You appreciate that it's a good look for him, but it also makes it very obvious that he was in no way joking.

Ryan stops humming and smiles in a way that you'd have to be blind and dumb to think is friendly, first at Joel then at Ray. You're really not in the mood to watch a murder; you just want your water. You tell Ryan this.

"Give the man his drink," Ryan tells Joel, smile still firmly in place. Joel's eyebrows scrunch at that, and you realize you had forgotten that Jack still won't let you bind. He advances the rest of the way to you and holds the water cup out for you to take.

"I, uh, I have to go?" Joel says. It's clear from his tone that he's asking permission here, looking back and forth between the two other men standing in the room.Ryan's eyes narrow and dart over to Ray. 

"Be my guest," he says, taking a slow step away from the doors and toward the younger man.

"Okay, I'll just—be going then."Joel cautiously makes his way to the elevator and presses the button. The doors open immediately and he steps in.

Ryan, meanwhile, is slowly advancing on Ray. You see the younger man twitching, fingers itching for a firearm that isn't there. He swallows and starts backing away from Ryan, but there are only a few steps before his back hits the wall. A picture clatters to the floor.

 "Ray," Ryan says with a smile," who was he?" He comes to a stop in front of Ray.

"Damn it, Ryan. You already know, okay. Don't make me—"

"No, I don't," Ryan says, he cages the smaller man in with his arms. Ray mutters something you can't make out. "Now why do you feel the need to do that?"

"You know why, Ryan. Stop playing these fucking mind games on me."Ryan slams his fist against the wall; you flinch. Ray smiles for a moment before frowning as soon as Ryan speaks. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he says to Ray.And, okay, you've only known Ryan for maybe a month at this point, but you're pretty sure Ryan would never, ever say that.

"That's the kind of shit I'm talking about!" Ray yells. 

The bathroom door, the one to the bathroom you couldn't use earlier, swings open, and Geoff shambles out of it. He's got the ever present glass of whiskey, though the ice appears to have melted, and he looks fifty shades of hungover, hooded eyes and shambling walk, and half his clothes are either missing or put on wrong. He looks around in confusion. Ryan and Ray either don't notice or don't care that their boss has just entered the equation.

"What's that even mean?" Ryan asks. "I apologized!"

"Exactly! Be a fucking asshole!" Ray yells; you think he shoves Ryan's chest, but you're not sure. "Scare me and hate me, fucking _hurt me_ god damn it. I didn't fall in love with a southern farm boy who calls me 'darling' and tries to court me."

He pulls Ryan close by his shirt and kisses him roughly. Something in Ryan changes and his arms move from being against the wall to grabbing Ray's hips and gripping, tight. Ray slams his head back against the wall and gasps, "Oh, fuck yeah. Welcome back."

Ryan, unperturbed, dives in to bite at his neck. "How long was I gone?" he asks.

"Pretty long this time, couple— _shit_ , do that again, yeah—couple weeks. S—mm—since last Wednesday maybe?"

Geoff turns away from the scene of Ryan and Ray grinding against each other in the front room. He heads down the hallway, pausing to knock on the library door. "Your boyfriend's back!" he yells loudly.

A loud noise, like the clattering of many vaguely metallic things to the floor, and what can only be described as a squawk answer this statement. the door swings open and Gavin flails out of it. 

"Ry!" he shouts happily as he runs down the hall. Ryan and Ray separate enough for Gavin to wriggle in between them. He loops his arms around Ryan's neck and kisses him. "C'mon," he grabs both Ryan's and Ray's wrists and starts tugging them down the hallway.

You sit in your chair and awkwardly look around the room. You sip your water occasionally. You are hungry, but Geoff is far away. Jack usually feeds you, but you don't know where he is. Gavin and Ray brought you your phone, though. It's sitting on the table by your chair, and Jack had taken the time to program all their numbers into it, except Ryan's. Ryan gets a new number every two months so none of them ever have it in their phones.

You call Jack; he says he's out stocking up on supplies. You ask why, and he says he doesn't know; Geoff just told him to be ready to treat some serious wounds. You're not sure you _want_ to know anyway, so you ask him about food.

"Can't Ray get you something? He was there when I left this morning. I know he can't actually cook, but he can pour things and use the microwave." Ray cannot help you because Ray is busy being fucked in the ass by at least one man; you tell Jack this. 

"Oh, Ryan came back then? That's good; I was starting to worry about him. I'll have to let Michael know. " You ask if he knows where Michael is. "Of course I do," he says. "I'm not gonna tell you, but I always know. Anyway, I'll be back in like half an hour. I'll bring food."

You tell him you might be dead by then. You can feel the fat slowly leaving your body. You're wasting away. Your skeleton will greet him when he—

"Half an hour," Jack says, laughing. You hear the static click of him hanging up and end the call yourself. You can do this. You shall survive this tribulation!

You're sitting sideways in the recliner with your leg propped up on some pillows on the side table when Jack comes home. You have been making a nasally wailing noise off and on for the last five minutes. You're _hungry_ , and you can still hear the gaylords having amazing sex like two rooms away. You're kind of jealous.

 Your head whips toward the doors when you hear them open, and very soon thereafter you smell the wonderful scent of drive-thru food. You tell Jack that you love him, and if you were gay you'd totally suck his dick right now. You might still, actually, if he asks; you're that grateful.

 He doesn't ask you too, thankfully, and you happily munch away at your chicken nuggets and continue to sing his praises while he looks at your leg. "They're really going at it, huh?" he says as he starts to unwrap the dirty bandages. You nod, not wanting to talk with your mouth full. You can hear all three of them still. You admire their stamina.

"Been awhile since Ryan's been gone that long, I guess," he says, mostly to himself. You ask why everyone keeps saying Ryan went away. He's been around _all week_. You know because you've heard Ray shouting at him and Gavin pleading with him; everyone seems to have generally gone insane around here is all you're saying.

You swear when he cleans the wound. "It's really not my place to tell you," Jack says. He digs through his medical bag for clean bandages. "Ryan didn't tell me until six months after he met me."  He wraps the new bandages around your leg.

That really sucks. You hate not knowing things; it makes it much easier to fuck things up. 

Jack puts your foot back down on its pillows and sits down on the couch. He hands you a controller. "Wanna play Geometry Wars?"

You both spend a good two hours killing brightly colored shapes. The sex noises stop about ten minutes in, and you can only assume they've all passed out from the marathon fucking.

The only reason you _stop_ killing geometric shapes is Geoff. He bursts out out of his office with an empty glass in one hand and a map of the city in the other. "Gentlemen!" he yells," We have a heist!" 

\----

Jack does call Michael that same day. Michael actually answers, which is more than he did for any of the other guys. They talk briefly, Jack once again insisting that Ryan is back. Jack tells Geoff that Michael will be back the next day.

"Excellent!" Geoff says from the kitchen. He's pinning a map of the city to a large, wheeled whiteboard and humming. He has a bottle of water now instead of his whiskey, which is a good sign you think. "Tell him to thank Linds for the info next time he sees her."

"Will do," Jack says. After he hangs up the phone, he gets up and goes to investigate. You limp your way over there too, having nothing better to do.

You watch Geoff pinning photos to the board. Deciphering what on earth he's trying to communicate with this PowerPoint is nigh impossible without formal training, you think. Luckily, Jack is well versed in this strange form of communication; unluckily, Geoff has absolutely gone batshit insane.

"We're robbing a Chuck E. Cheese?" Jack asks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You mumble curses to yourself as you climb up the fire escape, you're an out of shape little dude. Who decided this was a good plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @SatanistShipper ask and u shall recieve
> 
> okay, uh, slight warning for possible transphobia in this chapter. not like large enough that it needs a tag, but like just Gavin being a dmbass so

"We're robbing a Chuck E. Cheese?!" Michael asks in disbelief.

"Okay, listen the fuck up, gentlemen." You sit up a little straighter. Since this is your first official heist briefing, Jack has let you wear your binder again. Geoff grabs the plastic fork that Gavin is using to eat fried rice. "This," he points to a building on the map of Los Santos; it's circled in red marker," can anyone tell me what it is?"

"It's a fucking Chuck E. Cheese," Michael answers helpfully.

"We all know that, Michael!" Gavin shouts. No one else was shouting. Why does Gavin always have to make things shouty?

"Well then why's he fuckin' askin' the questions, Gav?!"

"I don't know! But obviously that's not the answer he wanted; is it?!"

"It's not," Geoff agrees.

"Shut the fuck up, Gavin."

Ryan has to lock his arms around Gavin's waist to keep him in Ryan's lap as opposed to brawling with Michael. The Brit flails his arms, and his rice falls to the kitchen floor. Ray--you don't actually know what Ray's--no, wait, Ray's filming the whole thing. And goading Gavin on.

" _Will all you cocksuckers shut your mouths!"_ Geoff yells over them all.

"You're a cocksucker, too," Ryan argues.

"I sure as hell am _not!"_

"Wow, Michael," Ray says," You've been sleeping with the boss, and he's not even putting out? You're loyal; I'll give you that."

"Yeah, just not to his _wife,"_ Gavin pipes up. Well shit. You didn't know that. You did not know that. You suddenly like Michael a lot less.

Michael stands from his chair, and you start to get worried. He's been edgy since he got back. You figured it was whatever was up with Ryan, but maybe now not so much.

"How dare you," Michael says. "We have a system. I love her, you dog piss."

"Well, wouldn't know to look at you, would ya?"

"You wanna go? Let's go."

Gavin squawks and tries to break free from Ryan's grip on him. "Gavin, you. are. _tech support,"_ Ryan reminds him. From what you've seen, when push comes to shove, Gavin always forgets that he's a scrawny scrap of nothing that a stiff wind could carry away into the mountains never to be seen again.

You're gripping your cane tightly now, ready to make a speedy escape if things go south. You can actually walk pretty okay without it now. You might use it as a weapon and limp your ass out of the fight if you have to.

"Ray! Put that damn camera away!" Ryan shouts. "And help me!"

"Fine." Ray puts his phone away. Michael and Gavin are still shouting at each other, but you can't make out anything they're saying. Ray shouts over them. "I really don't think you need my help to hold Gavin still. I know you don't, actually."

A gunshot echoes through the apartment. You all look toward the sound. Geoff is holding the smoking gun, so to speak. You're a little bit worried about where the bullet went.

He speaks quietly, calmly. "The next person who says some stupid fuckery will _lose a toe."_ He slams the gun down on the kitchen table.

Michael, face red, slowly backs away to sit back in his chair. Gavin settles back against Ryan's chest, and Ray resumes his position cross-legged, back against Ryan's legs. Jack clears his throat.

"Now," Geoff says, straightening up and leaving the gun on the table," does anyone else have any more _bullshit_ they wanna say?" Everyone shakes their heads.

"Okay. Good." Geoff runs a tattooed hand through his hair. "Where was I? Right okay.

"It's not a Chuck E. Cheese. I mean, it _is_ , but it's mostly not. Technically speaking it's a knock off called like Cheese Hut or something."

He uses his (Gavin's) plastic fork to gesture to a picture he has pinned up. "Look at this," he says. "Does anyone have any idea why a place like this," fork points to building on map," would have a safe like _this?"_ He gestures back to the picture.

"They keep their finest cheeses there," Ray says sarcastically.

Geoff angrily taps the fork against his thigh. "You wanna be able to hang ten when you don't go surfing, Narvaez?" Ray acknowledges the threat by staring down at his phone.

"So, this is a ruse, a sham, a curtain, a facade--"

"A thesaurus," Ryan mutters.

"It's a _smoke screen,"_ Geoff finishes,"to cover up what they really have going on."

"Which is?" Jack asks.

"Drug money, and a lot of it. Here's the plan--oh! But first, code names!" he claps his hands together in front of him, giddy. "Code names, Ryan!"

"Yeup."

"You're GG."

"Oh god," Ryan says, like he knows what's coming. You're not sure if you should be excited or scared.

"Gav is Hax. Ray you're Speed Run; Jack is Mod. Michael is Ready Up. I'm Admin. Robin," he points to you as he speaks," you're Newb."

You're startled. You didn't know you were going to be assigned to anything. You didn't know Geoff trusted you enough for that. To be honest, you are kind of used to being the house pet.

"What?" Michael asks. "What's he gonna do?"

"That depends," Geoff says. "How comfortable are you with wearing a dress?"

"No," Jack says. He stands up, putting himself between you and Geoff. "You can't do that."

"Jack," Geoff says calmly," let the man answer for himself."

"You can't do that," Jack shoots back. "Do you have any idea what kind of shit that can cause? Dysphoria and flashbacks and depression; you can't just--"

You stand and limp over to them. It takes you putting a hand on both of their chests to get them to stop arguing with each other. You ask what you have to do.

"Okay so I was thinking," Geoff starts, jumping right back in to his plan," if you're okay with it, I want you to flash them." What the actual fuck.

"Okay, just, let me explain," Geoff says.

\----

"I still don't understand what's happening."

Michael shoves Gavin's head into the car window. "Shut up, fuckwad," he orders. "You've had two weeks to go over the plan."

"But why do you have to be the one in a dress, Rob?" Gavin insists. Your quiet correction of your name is ignored. "Ray's all skinny and hairless too, and he's got the puppy eyes, and--"

"You just want to see your twink boyfriend in a dress," Geoff says over the car intercom.

"That is not--!" You think you can see the multiple exclamation points over Gavin's head as he searches for words. "Rob's not even in a dress!" You sigh and correct him again. You're getting tired of it, to be honest.

"His name is fucking Robin, Jesus Christ, Gavin. He's told you that at least ten times _today."_ You might be in love with Jack. He might be a literal angel. You might be losing your mind a little; you're not too worried about it.

"Robin has to be the one in the dress because he's, uh--I mean." You ask Michael to, please, continue. You would love to hear his explanation.

"What, because we can put a wig and some fake tits on him?"

The car goes silent. The coms go silent. Geoff's nonstop singing goes silent. _Ray and Ryan's argument about who gets Gavin's ass when they get home_ goes silent.

"What?" Gavin asks. Jack coughs. You're speechless. "What?!" Gavin asks again.

"They're not fake, Gavin."

Gavin looks at Michael like he's just sprouted wings. "Course they are!" he insists. "What else would they be?"

"Gavin, I'm going to drop this conversation right now," Michael says." Because, I know that Robin has a gun on him, and I don't want to deal with Ryan and Ray when I let him shoot you for being a dumbass."

"Just because he's been wearing them around the apartmen--"

"Oh. my. god," Michael says. "Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. I actually can't believe you."

"What?" Ryan asks, apparently not getting it. You're glad you're not the only one. Michael has apparently latched on to something no one else can detect. He's fluent in dumbass Gavin speak, though, so that's to be expected.

"You thought it was the other fucking way, didn't you?" You remind Michael that, while making Gavin feel like an idiot is well and good, _eyes on the goddamn road_.

"What?" Gavin is not comprehending. You think you might be.

"You fucking _thought."_ Michael is somewhere between anger and hysteric laughter. "You motherfucking--"

" _Road!"_ Gavin screeches. Michael dodges an incoming car just in time.

"Geoff, permission to stall the mission?" Michael requests.

"What?" Gavin exclaims. "You can't just--"

"Granted," Geoff consents. "Straighten him out, Michael."

Michael takes the next turn he can and pulls into a gas station parking lot. Gavin looks perplexed. And scared. Michael turns off the car.

"So let me see if I understand," Michael says. "You know Robin is trans."

"Well yeah. 'S obvious."  Way to be an asshole, Gavin. Gavin squeaks in protest at your statement.

"No, yeah that's an asshole thing to say," Michael backs you up. "But moving on, you think Robin is a designated _male_ trans person?"

"Uh." Gavin has to think about that for a second. "Yes?"

"Amazing. Ryan," the other man answers Michael with a noise of acknowledgement," aren't you a demiboy? How did you let this happen?"

"We don't talk about it," Ryan says. "On the days when I'm nothing I'm just--just nothing. We don't talk about it." Healthy relationship dynamic there, you observe.

"They're all thriving in their respective relationships," Jack says sarcastically. "Completely healthy, totally not codependent, if you haven't noticed."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Gavin asks.

"We're gonna have a talk when we get home," Jack promises. "A very long talk."

"Gavin, Robin is a dude," Michael says.

"Well, yeah."

"Gavin, I will punch you _through the com,"_ Jack promises.

You interrupt Michael just before he starts yelling. While you appreciate their defense--er, care? While you appreciate their willingness you punch Gavin in the face for mis-misgendering you, shouldn't you all be getting on with the heist?

Geoff sighs. "He's right," he says. Everyone else mumbles their agreement, and Michael calls Gavin a dumbass once more for good measure, then the car is moving again.

\----

You tear the blond wig off your head at the earliest opportunity, shoving it in a dumpster behind the building as you flee the cops trying to arrest you for indecent exposure. You mumble curses to yourself as you climb up the fire escape, you're an out of shape little dude. Who decided this was a good plan? You're just glad Gavin came through on his promise of lowering it for you; no way you have the upper body strength for that shit.

You sit on the roof for a few seconds, catching your breath and hurriedly pulling on the clothes stashed there. The binder is being and uncooperative fuck but it's important. As soon as you have the shoes reasonably secured you're running. You can hear somebody on the ladder; you figure the cops have caught up with you.

They want you to jump across goddamn rooftops. "Just go!" Ray shouts," I'm watching the 'manager' and it looks like they're catching on that their safe isn't so safe anymore." They want _you_ to _jump_ across _god_ **damn roof. tops.** Can somebody here please remind you who the fuck go shot in the calf?

"Jump, asshole!" Geoff shouts at you. Oh, easy for him to say. He's been sitting in a van this whole time.

You hear someone swearing on the fire escape, and that motivates you a little. You back up and take a running go, ignoring the pain in your leg. You land on your side on the other building, and it knocks the breath out of you.

"Attaboy," Geoff says. "You alright?" You answer with a cough. You're gonna start running miles after this. You swear. "Good, then hurry up. We're waiting for you."

You push yourself to your feet and bitch about physical activity all in one breath. You can do this. One more jump and then all that's left is to climb down a ladder and stroll leisurely down the street. You give a hacking cough to restart your respiratory system and sprint toward the edge of the roof.

You land on your side again, and your calf is pulsing with pain; that can't be good. There's a gunshot and a yelp behind you. You wonder who they're firing at and who is firing. Police will be a lot more hesitant to actually shoot you than gang members who just had their drug money and their actual drugs stolen.

"They're shooing the cops out of there in a hurry," Ray says in your ear. So not the cops behind you then, time to run. You scramble your way to the edge of the building almost on all fours, never actually standing upright. You climb down the ladder as fast as you can, ignoring Ryan and Michael coordinating their getaway in the background.

You're sure that Geoff could have come up with a better plan for a distraction. Sure, what he had come up with _wor_ _ked_ _,_ worked really, really well, and you don't have to shoot any innocents which is always a plus but not necessary--Jack's words, not yours. But, as you climb into the minivan/get away car two rooftops and an alley away from the hit, you still think there could've been a better plan than you flashing your tits.

"Yeah, but this was _way_ easier," Geoff says. Yeah, you can agree to that. You're still a bit iffy on just committing what was basically sexual assault against a bunch of minors, though.

"Will a few grand ease your conscience?" Ryan asks in your ear. This is a throwaway vehicle, so they didn't bother outfitting it with an in-car com system. "Because that's your cut of what we just pulled out of that safe."

"You guys make it out okay?" Geoff asks. Ryan and Michael confirm they're safely on their way to their own ride with the money. Ray grunts to let them know he's alive.  Jack is sitting in the passenger seat, so he's accounted for. "Where's Gavin?" Code names are _meaningless,_ you've found.

"Isn't he supposed to be with you?" Michael asks.

"No!" Geoff exclaims. "He's supposed to be sniping on the roof with Ray!"

"Ray!" Ryan yells. You hear Michael cursing.

"He was never up here with me!" Ray defends. "I thought he went with Robin for backup!" He was never with you. You thought he was with Ryan.

"Was _no one_ paying attention during the briefing?!" Geoff shouts.

Any defense the others might have made is cut off by a new voice entering the com channel. "How does this damn thing work. No, I don't want you to show me! Gag him, would you? I've never heard a more annoying voice in my li--"

"Uh, hello?" Geoff says.

"Oh, good, it's on. Ugh, I had to stick this thing in my ear, and I don't know where this thing's been."

"If you don't mind me asking, who the fuck are you?" Ray pipes up.

"Me? I'm just a guy with a gun and some missing money," the stranger says. "Oh, and an annoying English rat who doesn't know when to shut up."

"He really doesn't, right?" Michael joins the conversation.

"How many of you bastards are there?"

"Y'know, a few," Jack answers.

"Jesus," the stranger breathes. "Listen, I know you're still around. I tried to catch your whore earlier, but I think I got the jester instead. Either way, how about we make a trade? Or you can keep the money, and, as and added bonus, I'll send all of you a limb."

"If I find one mark on him that I didn't put there I will skin your mother and your dog alive in front of you." Jesus, Ryan's brain freaks you out. "And then I'll drown you in their blood." Really, dude, do not need to get that specific.

"Newb, stay out of this," Jack advises you. So code names are in effect, then. Good to know.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" the man asks. "Did I catch somebody's fucktoy? Sorry to throw a wrench in your plans, but I want my property back, or I'll be damaging yours."

"Admin," Ray says," do you want me to 360 minus 360 this situation? I have the fov." You have no earthly idea what this means. They apparently have some kind of code speak going on here.

"No," Geoff says. "That might just make things worse."

"Admin," Ryan says," permission to abandon post?"

Ryan can't see the approving head nod Geoff gives him, but you can. You see it, you acknowledge it. You mirror it. "Denied," Geoff says. What.

"What?!" Ryan and Ray shout simultaneously.

"Well fuck that," Ryan says. "I was just being polite."

"I'm coming with you!" Ray says.

"Is that really a good--"

"I will blue ball you for a month if you finish that sentence," Ray interjects.

"Okay, everybody _shut up!"_ Geoff shouts. "Let me just think here." There's silence for a moment, then," You! You, uh, uh, hostage holder enemy man."

"Yes?"

"You want your shit back, we want our Brit back. You're proposing a trade. I agree."

The amount of absolute chaos at Geoff's statement is ridiculous. Ray and Ryan start threatening, in order, Geoff, Geoff's wife, Michael, the man in the store, Geoff's car, and Geoff's  entire apartment complex. Michael starts out by calling Geoff a pussy, and he's on a tangent about making Gavin stay chained to Ryan's bed by the time Geoff gets him to shut up. Jack actually doesn't say anything.

"Shut up you buncha cunts." The coms go silent. "We're meeting at the pier in fifteen minutes and that's _final._ GG, follow standard trade procedure. Ready Up, swap with Speed Run. Newb, stay in the car."

"What should I do?" Jack asks.

"Make sure he stays in the car," Geoff says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how to write actiony things, can you tell???
> 
> If I have in anyway misrepresented a gender here please let me know. I myself am genderqueer so that's really the only thing I can write with any authority and yet none of the characters are.
> 
> Also! Question: I'm considering taking this is a Jack/Robin direction, but I'm hesitant to ship OCs with non OCs so I'd like to hear your thoughts


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I super tired  
> It's three am
> 
> Er, trigger warning for a panic attack and a vague reference to the fact that Robin has a vagina I guess
> 
> You'll notice the rating went down, this is mostly due to the fact that I didn't think it warranted an E rating as the porny parts aren't really that porny and theirs no really graphic violence yet. It may change again who knows

The rest of the guys keep talking in code that sounds like gibberish for the next ten minutes. You can sort of decipher parts of it; you think they're using video game terms. It goes with the whole code names motif.

You sit quietly in the back seat and play tetris on your phone. You say nothing and make no sudden movements and pray to god that Gavin gets back safe. Ryan still doesn't like you enough to make you not a target of his anger.

You look up when Geoff parks the car. You're in an alley somewhere, you assume near the pier. "Mod," he says," I want you and Newb on surveillance." He turns to you. "If you notice  _anything_  you tell GG okay?"

You nod solemnly. Geoff gets out of the car, and you look to Jack for instructions. He gets out of the car soon after.  You follow his lead and slide the van door open, stepping into the alleyway. He's already failed his one job, so it can only get better from here.

"Okay, I know we didn't exactly brief you," Jack says, opening the trunk and pulling out a sniper rifle--because they keep spares apparently. "But I just need you to not say anything compromising, and follow me."

He leads you up a ladder--thank  _god_  not a fire escape; you don't think either of you are physically qualified for that maneuver--to the top of a building. He hands you a pair of binoculars as soon as you reach the top, and you see that the roof overlooks the pier perfectly. There's a suspicious van parked right outside the entrance.

You find some kind of wooden crate near the door to inside, and you ask Jack if he'd be a dear and push it closer to edge for you. Because your leg is starting to hurt again. Jack sighs but obligingly pushes your newly claimed seat to a more convenient position. You thank Jack for his excellent doctoring.

"Hey, I haven't lost a patient yet," Jack says.

"That's a lie," Geoff's voice says in your ear.

" _Discounting_ patients that Ry--er, GG had before I got to them," Jack amends," I have never lost a patient."

"I'll give you that," Geoff agrees.

"Fuck, I hate not knowing if someone's listening to us," Michael says. "It's fucking bullshit."

"Calm down," Geoff says," You got the stuff?"

"Yeah, I got the stuff, what kinda rookie you think I am?" Being a rookie yourself, you're not sure if you should be offended by that or not.

"Okay, here's how it's gonna go down. Me, GG, and Speed all go in for the trade. I've got Mod on surveillance in case they do any sort of shady shit. These are just drug runners; we shouldn't have  _any_ losses today, understand?" A unanimous noise of agreement greets his statement. "Good, Ready's in the van for pickup/dropoff."

Jack is positioning himself on the roof with his sniper. You can't tell who it's pointing at, and you envy the way everyone else just knows what the plan is.  You pout and look through your binoculars. They're dirty on the inside, and you can't see out of half of the left lense. This sucks.

Geoff, Ray, and Ryan all enter your field of view. Ryan and Ray are carrying two duffel bags each. Ray's sniper is strapped to his back. You wonder to yourself why the kid with glasses is the best shot out of the seven of you.

You look over to the van, five men have climbed out of it. One of them visibly stiffens when he sees the other three. He turns to whisper something to one of the others. That one makes a gesture towards your trio, and they all stop.

They're opening the side of the van, and you think you can see Gavin's stupid shoes. You get distracted and lower your binoculars, though, at a strange sound. Like, tapping, clinking, a metallic tapping noise, it's getting louder.

You ask Jack if he hears it too.  "Shh," Jack hisses, waving a hand at you. You wrinkle your nose at him and stick out your tongue when you're sure he can't see.

You're watching Geoff and, who you assume to be, the leader of The Enemy negotiate. They appear to be shouting back and forth across about fifteen feet of pavement. They drag Gavin fully out of the van, and you see they have him gagged.

You don't get to see much more, though, because suddenly you're being pushed off of your box, and someone's hands are in your pants, your pockets. Are you being  _mugged?_

"What the fuck?!" Jack shouts. "Geoff! Fuck--I mean, Admin! Fuck it--Robin's being mugged!" Jack starts yelling.

"Oh shit!" Geoff shouts, surprised, voice cracking. "Fuck--I totally forgot about that."

The dude grabs your wallet and starts running back across the roof. The  _fuck_ does he mean he  _forgot;_ was this  _planned?_

"Uh, maybe? Shit!"

You don't really know what happens next. Jack takes a shot, and that's your cue to duck for cover. "I think we pissed them off!" Ryan yells over the sounds of gunfire.

"No shit!" Geoff calls back.

"Ray, you good?" Ryan asks.

"I'm peachy," Ray answers.

You army crawl your ass over to the edge and look down. Ryan and Geoff are behind a car, and Ray is taking shots through the busted display window of a knick-knacks shop, popping into view only long enough to line up a shot. Trying not to get shot himself is really fucking up his accuracy.

You turn your attention to the van, Gavin is flailing as much as he can with only his feet free. He looks like they just dropped him on the ground when the shooting started.

"Don't kill the leader!" Geoff reminds everyone.

A bullet hits the building you're on about three feet below where your head is. You curse and shuffle backwards. You'll let them handle this.

You don't know how long it goes on. It couldn't have been too long, though. No cops have showed up yet. Eventually the shooting stops. You've been watching Jack; you don't know why, but he's a calming presence. So you know it's over when he stands up.

You stand as well and look down. There are four dead bodies and one very alive Brit scattered around the van. Michael is restraining the leader, which--where the fuck did he come from? Ryan and Ray are doing their best to absorb Gavin into themselves, it appears.

Geoff walks over to them. He punches the dude in the stomach, just once, before walking away. "Ryan," he says over his shoulder," he's all yours."

\----

You all ride together on the way back. Geoff drives, and Jack sits in the passenger seat, and in a way it's like some kind of weird family trip. Gavin is the annoying but much loved younger brother. Ryan is the morbid teenager; Ray is the blunt as hell little sister, and Michael is the  _other_ teenager who's pissed about everything. You're like, the family dog or something.

Your cheek hurts from where the mugger shoved you to the ground. Your leg hurts from being used so much before it was properly healed. Your hips hurt from landing on them wrong. And your arms hurt from all the ladder climbing.

Despite the pain, though, you feel a little numb. It's really lame, because you didn't even  _do_ anything, not really. You shouldn't be going into shock or anything. But the whole world seems like it's coming through shitty, community pool sound system speakers.

You watched people  _die._ Gavin almost died.  _Everyone_  almost died. You got mugged. You had a gun. You  _have_  a gun. You could've killed someone. It freaks you out a little more than you want to admit, but less than you think it should.

Ryan has the skull mask on still, but it's pushed up so that he can sporadically kiss Gavin or Ray whenever he wants. They're all three squished in the back seat, and you keep catching glimpses of that damn mask in the mirror.

Enemy Leader is in the trunk; they opted to throw him on top of the stolen money. You still don't know his name. You guys take a roundabout route toward the apartment, and halfway through you switch to a different minivan, and he gets put in a different trunk. Jack and Geoff still assume Mommy and Daddy seats, though.

You then end up going  _away_ from the apartment and parking outside of a warehouse by the docks. Ryan and Ray climb out. They open the trunk.

"Do you want him alive?" Ryan asks.

"For as long as possible," Geoff answers. "I want to find out who he works for," he goes on," I want to burn them to the ground."

"Want us to run a recorder while we work?" Ray asks.

"Would you, Ray? That would be  _lovely,"_ Geoff says, voice cracking near the end.

Ray salutes, and Ryan smiles. He hefts Leader out of the trunk and over his shoulder, and Ray pretends to help by grabbing his feet.

"Gav," Geoff says, twisting around in the driver's seat to look at him, "you stayin' or goin'?" He nods his head toward Ryan and Ray as he speaks.

"Uh." Gavin thinks on it for a moment.  "I think I want to go home," he says.

"Okie dokie," Geoff says. He starts the car again, and you watch the warehouse disappear as he drives away.

\----

Michael gets dropped off with the money somewhere. You don't know where. ("It's not that we don't trust you, but we don't trust you.") Jack hands you a rubber-banded stack of bills before Michael leaves, and you ask where you're supposed to keep them. He shrugs.

Gavin doesn't come to the apartment with you. They drop him off; you don't know where. You weren't paying enough attention to the surroundings of the car, and Geoff went in a circle at least three times. Criminal paranoia, you think.

"You gonna be okay?" Jack asks as Gavin climbs out of the backseat. "Want one of us to stay with you?"

"You don't have to be the mother hen all the time, idiot," Gavin answers with a small smile. He steps out on to the sidewalk and continues talking. "I'll be fine. Gonna take a shower then have a kip, I think. Let me know when they get in, yeah?"

"Will do," Geoff answers. Gavin shuts the door.

You take the time they're talking to look around. You think you're in the suburbs? There are houses, nice houses, with sprawling yards, and children on bicycles, and picket fences, and a petite redheaded woman waves sweetly at Gavin from the sidewalk where she appears to be jogging.

He waves back at her, and her smiles falls when she gets a look at his face. He has a split lip, a pretty gross looking split lip, you know. She walks up to him with a worried look on her face. You don't get to hear what they say, because Geoff drives off. You're left with yet more questions about what the fuck this gang even is.

\----

"Let me take a look at your leg," Jack says when you get back to the apartment. You're still holding the stack of bills. They're your baby now. Your wallet was in that bag that Gavin and Ray brought back; you wonder if you can fit the whole thing in there. Would the back find it suspicious if you deposited two grand in cash? Probably.

You're thinking all of this as Jack leads you over to the couch. You sit down and prop your leg up on the arm, lying across one and a half cushions. You're sore and tired, and you never want to move, ever. He leaves, you ask where he's going.

"Need to wash my hands," he says.

"You kiddos have fun," Geoff says. "I'm gonna strip and sleep."

"Did not need that mental image," Jack jokes when he comes back over. You grimace good-naturedly in response. He has a large bowl of water with a wash rag in it, and what you've come to know is the Bottle of Pain Killers.

He sets the bowl and the bottle on the table near your chair. "Uh, pants off," he says. You groan and tip your head back, closing your eyes against the thought of having to  _move_ now that you are  _lying down_. "Fine, I'll do it, you big baby." Before you can figure out what that means, your hips are lifted up and there's a hand tugging your pants down.

You're actually wearing a pair of your own pants today, because you have those now. They're harder to slip off than Gavin's pants, which were almost too big for your hips, and Jack has to tug to get them off without unbuttoning them. It's a split second after he gets them past your hips that you remember you're not wearing  _anything_ under them, and that in about two seconds Jack is going to have a full view of your bush and all the horrors within.

All the strange fuzziness fades from your body, and reality comes crashing down on you. Your head snaps up; you grab his wrists and try to shove them away. You have the strength of a piece of plastic wrap, though, so that doesn't really work. So you flail your hands at him until he lets go, simultaneously trying to curl up so small that you disappear.

You can't breathe. (You're breathing too much.) You can't breathe. (The world supply of oxygen is filling up your lungs.) You can't breathe. (They're going to inflate and burst.) You can't breathe. (You'll be dead, your chest ripped open for all to see.) You can't breathe.

Your eyes dart around behind the shield of your fingers. Jack is looking at you. Jack is looking at you. He's watching you break. He's going to think you're so weak. He's going to think you're crazy. You're going to die.

A dry sob is escaping your lips, hacking and high pitched. You can't deal with this. This shouldn't be happening. It's been six years since your last panic attack about this. It's been six years since you have wanted to claw off your own skin.

He's looking at you like you're a wild animal. Something frightened and dangerous, only dangerous to itself. You don't want him to look at you like that. You don't want this to be happening. You want to scream.

Jack looks startled by the noise that leaves you when you come to that realization. He reaches out to touch you, and that makes everything worse. You start chanting no, no, no no no no nonononononononononono--

"Robin," he says, slowly, calmly. He pulls his hand back. "Robin, do you know what's happening?" You make what you think is an affirming noise and try to nod your head. "Has it happened before?" You do it again. "Do you want me to go?"

This question is not so easily answered. You don't want him to see you like this, but if he goes, you'll be alone. You don't want to be alone. You want him to stay here and talk to you. You tell him to stay.

"Okay. I'll stay." He sits on the couch, on the cushion furthest from you. He's not touching you, which is good, but his presence is comforting. You ask him, not in so many words, to talk to you.

"Uh, okay, right," he says. "So I've never been in Gavin's house, right? The place we dropped him off at? Never been in. Known him for five years. I say I thought he had embarrassing sex toys or like, a really shitty book collection, but he lets Meg in there. I think he just doesn't want me in his hot tub--which I  _know_ he has.

"I've always thought pink was a nice color," he says, after a brief moment of silence. "Like, I get that people look at me and think I'm some kind of gruff lumber worker, but I've always liked pink. Not obnoxious, Barbie pink. Pastels--I like pastels.

"Yellow and purple, too," he adds," I like them in pastels. Have you ever seen those pictures of guys with flowers in their beards?" You hum in answer. "Yeah, I think that'd be cool to do sometime."

You like listening to him talk. He keeps talking. He talks about his mom and his favorite book and how when his cat died when he was eleven the sunset was the same color as her coat had been. He tells you about planes. He tells you so much about planes: which ones were made for dog fights, exciting advances in the field of stealth, engine design.

He doesn't stop talking, and eventually you start to ask questions, uncurl yourself. You end up with your head on his leg while he tells you about the time his dad crashing a remote control helicopter into the grill, while it was on. You just stay there after that.

"You should put your leg up," he says, after a while. You're mostly calmed down by now, but you still don't want to move. Your eyes are heavy.

"I want you want you to ice it and take some anti inflammatories," he says, more sternly. You mumble something and make yourself more comfortable against his thigh. "And put your leg up!"

You grumble and haughtily lift your leg high in the air before lowering it gingerly into the armrest. You ask if he's happy. "Ecstatic.

"Now do what I said."

You refuse, and he can't make you. Because you're using him as a pillow, and you're the dude with a questionable leg who just had a panic attack. If he gets up he's a major douchebag.

It's quiet for a while. The click of the clock on the wall, the hum of the computer, the rumble of city life below you--these are the only sounds. There is no talking. You're okay with it.

You've always needed something to focus on in order to fall asleep. You have to sleep with a fan on to avoid getting lost in your head. The white noise of background life is almost as good.

You're tired. Your limbs hurts. Jack makes one last ditch effort to get you to do more for your leg. You yawn and fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a transman. If you are and you think I've done some terribly or slightly wrong in my portrayal of one or of the bodily dysphoria of one please let me know and tell me how you think I can fix it
> 
> Thank


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